


Halloween

by talienfey



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Attempted Sexual Assault, Gore, Horror, One Shot, Sexual Harassment, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talienfey/pseuds/talienfey
Summary: When she felt satisfaction, that was like happiness, and Mira needed to smile.





	Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all. I'd like you to read the content warnings before proceeding if you have any concerns about triggering content, or just want to avoid stuff that squicks you out. I tagged as many as possible in the archive's actual tags, but I think it'd be easier to list how bad they get so you can make your own choice on whether you want to risk it or not.
> 
> If you feel that these warning tags would be 'spoilery' and aren't worried about upsetting content, just skip this note and go on to the fic!
> 
> This is a horror fic that contains descriptions of violent attempted sexual assault in a non-fantastical, realistic setting, not eroticized in any way and stops short--that's not where the Explicit rating comes from and why I opted to not use the rape/non con tag. This may be reminiscent of the college rape epidemic. Severely drunk non-canonical characters are involved. Small amount of male nudity. Street harassment/catcalling, mention of previous assault and incestuous abuse. There are misogynistic, homophobic, & ablest slurs and victim blaming. Unrealistic and inaccurate but canonical portrayal of sociopathy (used here as an inability to empathize or feel many emotions). But mainly, EXTREMELY graphic descriptions of violence including blood and other bodily fluids, internal organs and messy death. 
> 
> Basically if you read my The Witch's House fic you're gonna be like oh ok but if you're used to my other stuff you're going to be WHAT THE LITERAL FUCK. :D Sorry, horror is cathartic! Also I wrote this like two years ago and only recently rediscovered it.

 

It was Halloween.  
  
  
A strange custom, Mira mused. She leaned back against the brick wall of a bar that had closed for the night. She could remember walking door to door with other children dressed in silly costumes, begging for candy, many years earlier. It was surprising to see how popular the holiday was with adults. The district had been full of drunk partiers earlier, now slowly dispersing as the clubs and bars closed for the night.   
  
It was exceptionally strange to her that all the things that seemed to inspire terror in people—from the ludicrous concept of ghosts to the reasonable fear of violent murderers--were extremely popular in movies and television around the time of this holiday. None of this media particularly interested her, but the reactions from people viewing them were quite interesting to her.

She'd watched a horror movie in a theater once as a teen, and had been shushed angrily by several other viewers when she'd begun to laugh. It hadn't been the appropriate emotion, she'd quickly realized, but she was still not positive as to _why_. The actress had been made to appear as if her heart were being ripped out, but it was so _unrealistic_. There hadn't been nearly enough blood, and she hadn't been disabled first. It was ridiculous to think a person could walk right up and tear a chest open without any preamble. Even the sharpest scalpel she'd found wasn't strong enough to slash through bone so smoothly, especially with a struggling person.

Mira had thought, based on other interactions, that humans found that kind of parody of reality amusing. Instead, they were shivering in fear. She couldn't understand, the images on screen couldn't actually _harm_ them. And none of her targets had sought her out to die, yet the audiences seemed to love feeling a similar terror.  
  
Halloween was just a strange concept, like so many other parts of humanity.

Her vivid green eyes slowly passed over the streets. It was nearly three am, and the previously crowded strip was emptying. Stragglers from the earlier revelries were stumbling out of the last few bars to close, obviously heavily intoxicated. They were all dressed strangely as was another bizarre custom for the holiday.

Men, she'd noticed, rarely went to the extremes of dress that women did. Many seemed to only have a mask, or an unrealistic piece of gore with their regular clothing. Women, however, were wearing heavy makeup, and dressed in versions of ordinary outfits that revealed unusual amounts of flesh.

She had read articles on human behavior which explained that less clothing, or clothing emphasizing breasts, hips, or legs, were alluring to males. They'd flock to females wearing these costumes in hopes of sexual contact. While such activities weren't of interest to Mira, it had explained an experience that had happened when she had begun puberty.

She had been walking down the street on a hot day, dressed to avoid overheating in shorts and a tank top. A car stopped at an intersection just as she reached it.  
  
The man inside rolled down the window. “Hey girl, you are looking fine!”

He smacked his lips at her. She'd blinked in response, but he didn't seem to notice her confusion.

“You wanna get in here and gimmee some of them _nasty_ thighs?” He was staring at her legs. She couldn't make the connection. Was he hoping to dismember her? How quaint, his arms were wrinkled with age and had absolutely no muscle definition at all.  
  
Another car pulled up behind him. It let out a loud honk as the street light turned green. The man who had been talking to her drove away without further comment.

Mira had stood there for a while, piecing apart and studying the interaction in her head. Finally she came to the conclusion that, for some reason, showing her legs could attract men to her. As she grew older, she realized it wasn't just her legs, but her breasts and hips.  
  
Simply wearing less had made it _absurdly_ easy to attract male victims.

“Heeey ladies, what are YOU doin' tonight?” a man with a pathetically fake knife wound on his face howled across the street, distracting her from her memories. His almost taunting tone was aimed at a group of women chatting outside of a bar, while one of them locked the door behind her. “You wanna party with me?”  
  
He made a thrusting motion with his arms and hips in a gaudy display. The women ignored him. One raised her hand with the middle finger extended without turning from her conversation.  
  
“Fuckin sluts!” The man began to walk away, tripping up over his own feet.  
  
It was a power display, Mira understood. An article had explained that men who yelled things at women did not actually expect the women to respond to his calls by joining him, but he still wanted to make his presence known. These men seemed to think that saying unprovoked, sexual things to women in public was asserting dominance over them, and showing other men that they were virile.

A stupid waste of energy, in Mira's opinion. She pushed off the wall and began to walk the nearly deserted street. She considered the man for a moment as she passed the alley he'd turned down. He was stumbling off by himself, and seemed barely cognizant of his surroundings. He'd be boring, easy to disable. After her kill, she'd have to leave the city and it would be a while before she could stake out another one. He couldn't offer anything remotely of interest to her.

There had to be something better.  
  
She'd been walking about five minutes when she passed another alley. A familiar noise turned her head. Someone was struggling inside, hidden behind a dumpster. It piqued her interest--normally she heard these sounds because she was the one restraining a victim. She walked over to it slowly.

The noise came from a pair of men holding a young woman against the wall. Her nurse costume was disheveled, and tears streaked her face. She was kicking at the men as one tried to pry her legs apart at the ankles. Her big, brown eyes met Mira's, and widened.  
  
“Please— _please_ help me!” she stammered before one of the men covered her mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, dismissing Mira with a shrug.  
  
“This doesn't concern you,” he barked, fighting to hold the girl against the wall.

The other man let go of the girl's ankle and was slowly standing up. His eyes were riveted on Mira. He stood up slowly. He was medium build--the type that exercised solely for aesthetic purposes rather than strength--Caucasian, brown haired, and wearing an artistically tattered plaid shirt. There was a werewolf mask tucked into his belt.

A grin spread over his face as he stared at her, rubbing his hands together. “Fuck that bitch, Mike. We got a tastier piece over here.”  
  
Now this— _this_ —was interesting. 

Mira tilted her head, placing one hand on her hip. Her loose hair brushed over her a bare shoulder. A small smile seemed to be the appropriate face for this situation.  _Alluring_.  Too easy.

The man called Mike—another white, college-aged boy, who looked much weaker than the first-- released the other woman. She stumbled forward, and then ran down the alley towards the street, tripping a little over her illogically high heels. He ignored her now, slowly approaching Mira. He licked his lips and made a lewd noise.

Mira didn't move. She let the men approach her on either side in a pathetic attempted at a pincer movement. Her heart was beating faster—an adrenaline response, she knew. But it wasn't from fear. It was _anticipation_.  
  
The first man stepped forward. “What a nice surprise we got here.”

He wasn't looking at her face, but her breasts. It was unusual human behavior to be uninterested in her emotional response. Like the man shouting at the women on the street earlier, he wasn't interested in her as another person, but something _other,_ some object for him to toy with.

That was something she could recognize, and almost relate to, but her interest wasn't from a pathetic enslavement to hormones.

Her eyes shifted to the other man--Mike. He was moving slowly, slightly hunched over with his arms in front of him posed to grab. It was like watching a child attempt to sneak up on a wild rabbit.  
  
That was... amusing, right? The complete dissonance of a scrawny white boy, decked out in red-tag designer clothes and cheap cologne, thinking he was actually a hunter like her--was enough to trigger a physical response in her.

Mira laughed.  
  
He leaped forward, shoving her back against the alley wall. She let herself fall into it, turning to catch herself with ease. Mike didn't even notice. His touch only confirmed that he was much weaker than her. He pressed her against the bricks, holding her face against it roughly. “What the fuck is your problem, bitch? You think we're jokin' around?”  
  
Mira peered through her tossled hair. The other man crossed his arms as he looked at her, frowning. From a closer viewpoint, she could see he even had a little flab around his belly. She guessed they were in their first year of college, eating shit food and drinking a regular stream of alcohol.  
  
She hadn't taken two hearts at once yet. This would be an experience, and oh so easy. And to think, they had been stalking prey, just like her. Her pulse grew faster.  
  
“You think she's on something?” He seemed hesitant.  "I don't wanna fuck no meth head."

Mike shrugged. “I dunno. She might have 'problems', y'know? But fuck, Bryce, these tits are incredible.”

“You got that shit right.” Mike pressed his body against her back as Bryce stepped forward. He thrust his hips against her ass, and she could feel a slight firmness.  
  
Her initial interest was fading. He wasn't a hunter. He was a pathetic lifeform, struggling to prove his importance through his penis as if it were something only he could do. His heart probably would only quiver in her hands a half second before giving out with all the blood flowing to his genitals.  
  
She decided he would die first.

He was talking at her, but it was all pointless mumbling. “Yeah, you really shouldn't be runnin' around with those hanging out, bitch. You might run into some trouble.”

He stepped closer, reaching around towards her chest. He began to tug at her shirt, frustrated as it didn't rip off. He seemed oblivious to the obvious closure in the back.

The predator she'd thought she'd recognized was quickly turning from a savage panther into a mewling house cat. She was getting bored.

Boredom and irritation, the only two things she could feel that could possibly be called emotions. And these pathetic men were triggering both of them.

She wouldn't even take his heart, she decided. Just rip his chest open and step on it, impaling it with her stiletto, feeling the warm fluid splash over her foot in gasping waves. If he didn't go into shock like they often did, he might make an interesting expression as he died. But first...

“I have a question,” she asked. Mike twisted her arms into one hand—she almost laughed, he _really_ thought that one of his twig-like arms would hold _her_?--and placed his other hand around her throat.  
  
“Shut up, bitch.”  
  
“No, no, wait, Mike. I'm curious,” Bryce said, grinning now. “I've never done a fuckin' retard before. Well, except your sister.” His laugh was a barking yap, like a small, annoying dog. What an _irritating_ sound.  
  
“Think she'll scream like her?”  
  
“I dunno. So what's your question, bitch?” He pulled out a small knife from his pocket. Oh, this really was just sad—he thought that cheap piece of shit was going to be useful? It couldn't even be three inches long. It definitely wasn't sharp enough to cut through her skin and into her flesh without substantial force—force she doubted those two could muster even together.

But—no, fear was supposed to be the response, fear when someone was threatening her. But she wasn't sure how to display that. They couldn't see her face well anyways, she decided, choosing not to worry about her expression. She just wanted an answer before they died.    
  
“That girl—why her?”  
  
“Huh?” Bryce's eyes showed his confusion, then recognition. “What the fuck, that nurse bitch? Why her _what_?”  
  
“Why did you choose her?” It was so fucking _irritating_ that they couldn't make the simplest connections.  
  
“She's jealous! Holy fuck, Bryce, this bitch wants our cock so fuckin bad!” the man behind her cawed, his honking laughter ripping through the air again. Her patience was almost gone.  
  
“Isn't it easier to take one of the willing women from the bar instead of playing predator?” Mira continued, her piercing green eyes staring unflinchingly through the curtain of her hair to his dull, empty brown ones. “Restraining her seems like so much effort for you if you just wanted sexual contact.”  
  
“You a fuckin dyke or something?” Bryce asked, flashing the knife up to her eyes. He grabbed her chin. “I fucking hate faggots.”  
  
They couldn't even answer that simple question. It didn't matter, she already had figured it out.

They were only playing at being hunters. Their prey was simply whatever weak human they stumbled upon. Pathetic. _Pathetic_!

Finally, Mira's irritation turned into something stronger—and she rejoiced in it. It _had_ to be what the therapist her mother had taken her to so long ago called anger. It was hot, burning—it felt so _good_ , rushing through her.  
  
But it was over far too fast. The man's belt clicked as it hit the ground, along with his pants. She glanced over her shoulder.  
  
Really? This little thing was what he was so proud of? It looked so frail, and blunt. It reminded her of his knife. Bryce was attempting to saw at her clothes with that shitty knife.

They were tiny rats, biting at the tail of a hungry serpent. And they were completely blind to it, simply because of her body and their pathetic urge to assert dominance over it. Should she be amused?  It was like the situations she'd seen humans laugh at before--when reality was drastically at odds with a person's perception.   
  
The shitty knife bit into her skin as it failed to have any effect on her clothing. It felt more like a pinch than a stab, but the irritation was back.  
  
She should teach that man a lesson. It wouldn't do him much good, since he wasn't going to live much longer, but for a pathetic creature like that to pretend to be a hunter—no, he needed to be put firmly in his place, to die knowing just how much _less_ he was than her. 

His heart would be twitching, terrified, regretful—she couldn't wait to feel it jumping about in her hands, spraying warm blood over her body in its futile attempts to escape.  
  
All of these fantasies raced through her mind in an instant. Her arm easily slid from Mike's weak grasp.  She dropped her scalpel from its hidden sheath in her sleeve to her hand. She uncapped it with an easy, practiced movement.  
  
Now it began.

First, the hand holding her--not out of necessity, but punishment.  
  
She jammed the blade up, severing a tendon in his thumb. A gush of blood--not nearly enough yet--dripped on her face. Mike jumped backwards with a wail, grabbing his hand.  
  
His scream was almost as annoying as his friend's laugh. It wasn't the enraged howl of a wounded predator, but the whine of a child.

“What the fuc--” Bryce's exclamation—was that all these two could say when confronted with anything that made them think?—didn't fully get out of his mouth as Mira's stiletto slammed into his knee, hitting just past the kneecap into the sensitive flesh.

She pulled her heel out, straightening, and cracking her neck as she stood over him. He was moaning, his pants half undone, as he clutched at his knee. He couldn't even shrug off such a simple injury as that.  
  
Smile. This was satisfaction. When she felt satisfaction, that was like happiness, and she needed to smile.

But the other man was first. Mike's eyes were wide with horror as he stumbled back against the alley wall, cradling his bleeding hand. The top of his thumb hung uselessly from it by a flap of skin. Lucky shot—she'd hit it right between the bones.

She could see her reflection in his wide, watery eyes as she confidently stepped forward.  
  
He made another foolish move-dashing forward, trying to overpower her with his weight. She sidestepped easily, twisting on her heels like a dancer's spin. Her arm remained stiff, and he let out a horrifying screech—yet so, so much more enjoyable than his yapping laugh—as the scalpel pierced his eye, easily sliding inches back into his brain.  
  
She twisted her arm to let him slide off of the knife, and he hit the ground with a dull thunk. His arms twitched up to his mangled eye, reaching to remove an object that was no longer there. Saliva was frothing around his mouth as he tried to make a noise.

No, she didn't want to hear that irritating voice again even if he wasn't able to form words. Mira calmly placed the sharp heel of her golden sandal on his throat, already covered with his friend's blood, and stepped down. His windpipe made a cracking noise as it was pierced. He let out rasping, soggy gurgles as he choked.  
  
He tried to move her leg from the injury, but he was already losing control of his reflexes. Shock was setting in from the pain and trauma—adrenaline was unable to give him strength now. His heart was working against him by beating in a panic. Blood was flowing faster, warm as it sprayed against her toes.

 

Strangely, she was reminded of a childhood memory—a trip to the seashore. The salty blood misted around her like the tips of the waves had as she'd sat on the dock. His wild, irrational flopping was just like the fish she'd found stranded there, that she'd watched slowly suffocate and die. And his hands beating around her leg felt like the flapping of her clothes in the strong wind as she stood with her mother, watching the sun set.  
  
“Isn't this lovely, Mira?” her mother had said, wrapping her arms around her neck and resting her head in her hair. Her breath was warm against Mira's scalp as she whispered to her, just slightly louder than the wind. “This is what happiness is. I know you can't really understand it yet, but you will. I'll show you so many wonderful things until you do.”

Her arms tightened, slightly uncomfortable, as Mira stood still, staring at the horizon with a dull expression.

“I love you, Mira.”  
  


 

What a silly thing to remember just now. That trip had been very uninteresting, and she wasn't sure what the point had been.

A disgusting smell chased the fresh ocean breeze from her memories. Her prey had lost its bowels, and now the cloying, pungent stench of shit was ruining the moment, as usual. The tiny, twitching movements slowed, then finally ceased entirely as the last flickers of his strength were extinguished by the flowing blood pumping out of him.  
  
His good eye was already dulling as she slowly pulled her heel out from his throat. She wiped off the blood and flesh, flicking it away from her fingertips as she regarded the corpse. How quickly people died. She almost forgot. She would have felt regret, perhaps, if his heart had held any interest for her—but even in its fierce, panicked beating as he died, it was just a boring heart belonging to a boring, pathetic man.  It couldn't show her a thing.

A stupid man. He had fancied himself a strong hunter, yet had preyed on those who were weak and ordinary, trying to dominate them with his pathetic penis.  
  
He was nowhere near Mira, and he had thought he could conquer her, degrade her. It was as if a tiny mosquito thought itself equal to a tiger. The disparity was supposed to be amusing, right? But now, it only bored her.  
  
Ah—but she wasn't finished yet. She slowly turned around and casually began to follow the small blood trail down the alley.  
  
Bryce was hunched against the wall, clutching his knee with one hand, his other holding him up as he tried to stumble away.  He'd barely made it twenty feet.

She strolled in front of him, her heels clacking against the hard cement. He looked up with a terrified gasp, and his arm jerked out in front of him to point at her. That little, dull toy again? Mira shook her head, a frown crossing her face. Boring. She was to frown when she was bored. Even in the face of such danger, he still offered nothing to her.

She simply waited, watching him without a word. His arm finally wavered, and he mustered his strength to push off the wall and lunge at her with a cry. She rolled her eyes as she sidestepped, and he smashed onto the ground with a dull crunch. His next scream was more of a gurgle, and he writhed there, pathetic.  
  
She kicked his shoulder, rolling him over. He was sobbing, choking on the blood pouring from his broken nose. Clumsy. She stepped over him, staring down  between her legs as he weakly tried to kick with his good leg.

Mira slowly bent over him, placing her face near his. One more try, just to confirm.  
  
“You never answered my question."

He coughed, staring at her with wide eyes.  
  
“Look—I--I have money. Jus... just let me go, I can call Daddy--”  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she grabbed his chin and held it firmly. She brought the scalpel to his cheek, slowly peeling off a piece of skin as his saliva obstructed his throat. Perhaps pain would get his attention focused where it needed to be. “Why did you target that girl?”  
  
“I'm sorry lady I'm sorry I won't do it again!” he was blubbering, slurring his words as snot mixed with blood poured over his face. “I'm sorry--”  
  
Mira let out a deep sigh. Disappointment—that had to be this feeling. “You can't answer? Well, might as well get started, then.”

She knelt over him and grabbed the sides of his shirt, ripping it open in one short movement. Buttons flew across the alley. She pressed her hand on his chest, feeling the frantic breathing. Mm, she could almost see the heart throbbing under his chest as he hyperventilated, begging her to free it from its bony cage. She slid down to straddle him.  
  
“Th—the girl, I didn't know her, I swear! She—she was just _there_ , okay?”

Mira paused, tilting her head. The victim coughed, red, thick mucous spraying onto her thighs. “That's what you wanted to know, right?” His lower lip was jutting out and trembling. “It's her fault for being alone! I didn't do anything wrong!”  
  
“Just... _there_?” Mira repeated, pressing the side of the scalpel against his chest. Her expressionless face stared into his eyes. “So... there wasn't anything special about her?”  
  
“N... no. She just happened to walk by alone, that's all. It's not like I targeted her or anything! I'm not a predator or anything!”  
  
Mira let out a deep sigh. Her hair covered her face for a moment as she looked down.  
  
“No,” she said finally, lifting the scalpel again. “You're not.”  
  
He stopped speaking words as Mira's scalpel jammed down, through his chest. His eyes popped out and he began to convulse as blood began spraying out, twitching wildly under her.  
  
It was unnecessary, but she began to stab his chest in random places. That hot feeling— _anger_?--was back. But the irritation was alongside it, ruining any enjoyment from the experience.

Boring. Boring boring boring boring _BORING_. She repeated the word in her head with each stab.

“Why... why are. You. All. So _FUCKING_ BORING?”

Mike made one last gagging noise, then his limbs stopped moving entirely.  
  
She began sawing, savagely, her movements filled with an intense energy she couldn't describe. She sliced through the layers of fat, digging to get to the most important muscle before it stopped beating entirely.  
  
She finally freed it from all its ties, and yanked it out.

This was beyond irritation—this was a burning heat, an energy brighter than white hot flame, and it was ripping through her, making her muscles twitch and her teeth grind and it was _emotion_ , an emotion she couldn't name, but one that was triggered by all of her annoyance at how fucking boring goddamn humans were.

Even though _they_ could feel, even though _they_ had hearts—they still were controlled by basic, bestial desires.

The heart had stopped twitching, and she squeezed firmly it with one hand, squirting more warm blood over her, before throwing it aside. It landed on the ground with a wet _schlop_.

She sat as still as if she were frozen as she straddled the pathetic corpse. Mira let the fire burn through her as her lungs slowly pulled in, and out, and her own heart beat echoed through her eardrums.

It faded far too quickly.

 

She saw the flickering lights before the noise of an incoming car registered. She blinked a moment, then remembered. The girl. She was a witness. She should've just fled, gone home. But instead, it seemed, she'd gone to get “help,” help Mira would never need.

What a fucking pain. But instead of the intense heat she'd felt before, the violence trembling in every part of her body, she only felt that familiar surge of exasperation. Now she'd have to flee from the police, and it was cutting it awfully close.  
  
However, she did have one thing going for her.  
  
It was Halloween.

She stopped up, dropping the scalpel into the thing's empty chest cavity and wiping her hands. She adjusted her heel strap, and began to casually walk away.  
  
Smile—smile when you're satisfied.  
  
As she turned the corner, she heard a panicked voice echoing through the alley. She paused, listening.  
  
“It was here, they let me go but they held onto that woman right here! And— _KIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_!!!!!!!!”

The scream was shrill, piercing, almost as annoying as that one—what was its name again? Mike?--almost as annoying as his laugh had been. A deep voice joined the shrieking girl with a strangled cry. “Jesus Christ!”  
  
A third voice. “What the hell is this shit... Is this some kind of fuckin' prank?”

“Fuck, Marco, you can't fucking smell that? Nobody fucking shits themselves for a prank like this. _Fuck_.” A pause where all Mira could hear was the woman hyperventilating. “Jesus, Marco, get her out of here!”  
  
Mira circled the building, easily slipping into the small, gathering crowd. It seemed that there'd been at least one more bar open, and everyone had been drawn by the screaming.

She looked at their expressions and molded hers into a similar one. Wide eyes, no smile. Hand to the cheek, there. Curiosity and shock. It was so strange, seeing so many people dressed up, some as monsters, some appearing as bloody as she was--with such silly expressions. No—don't laugh. Wrong reaction.

The girl was led out from the alleyway, and an emergency worker wrapped her in a blanket. She stared over the crowd, her eyes dull. But then, for a split second, the girl's eyes met Mira's. They widened in recognition.

Shit, that was a problem. Mira turned and began to walk away quickly, then paused as she heard the girl speak again.  
  
“I don't know if I gave the right description...”  
  
“What, the other woman?”  
  
“Well, it's... it's Halloween, you know? I just can't remember for sure what she looked like.”  
  
Mira tilted her head to the side, listening.

“All I can really remember is it was an angel costume. I'm positive—it was an angel.”

Mira turned her head to look back over her shoulder. This was... strange.

Their eyes met again. The woman gave the slightest, nearly imperceptible nod.

Mira turned around, and began to casually walk away. The crime scene tape was being unfurled behind her.

The officer guarding the barricades nodded in greeting as she stepped by.

“Nice costume,” he said, grinning. “Bloody Mary, right? Simple, I like that.”  
  
Smile. Pretend to be satisfied. “Thank you,” she said, observing how his eyes traced up and down her body. She lifted one arm to brush back her hair, then slid her hand down past her breast.    
  
The man gulped, trying his hardest to keep his eyes from flicking back down at her cleavage.  
  
“I—if you need an escort, I can call you one,” he stammered. “There's a lotta creeps about tonight, you know?”  
  
“Thank you, but... I'm meeting friends so I'll be fine.” That was a realistic excuse, right? It seemed to be. He didn't stop her as she walked away.  
  
“Uh—ma'am--!” He sounded slightly panicked, and she looked over her shoulder in alarm. The man had his hat off, twisting it between his hands. “Uh—I know this is... really inappropriate but uh.... could I maybe.... have your number?”  
  
A smile slowly spread back against her face. “Why don't we meet up for a coffee when you're done with your shift?”

Flutter eyelashes, touch hair again. “Not here, though, it seems to be _really_ dangerous.” Carefully lick lips. Good.

“Yeah—yeah! Um, McCaine's on fifth, you know it? They're a twenty-four hour place.”  
  
“I'll see you there!” Smile. Wave. Turn around and keep walking.

The smile didn't completely fade from her face as she looked away. There wouldn't need to be any surprises or violent struggles this time. No sneaking around in the dark. Her next victim was coming to her,willingly, without her doing a damn thing.

 

What a treat.

 


End file.
